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SPRING.
O! I would bid the throne
Of beauty be thine own,
And wreaths of happiness thy crown should be;
So beautiful art thou,
With stately step and brow,
That thou hast chained even misery to thee!
Of beauty be thine own,
And wreaths of happiness thy crown should be;
So beautiful art thou,
With stately step and brow,
That thou hast chained even misery to thee!
SPRING.
Thou art hastening onward. Spring!
Onward on a joyous wing,
Thou dost make the forest ring
With thy infant glee;
With thy beauty and thy bloom,
With thy sweetness and perfume,
From old winter's cheerless gloom
Comes wild minstrelsy.
Onward on a joyous wing,
Thou dost make the forest ring
With thy infant glee;
With thy beauty and thy bloom,
With thy sweetness and perfume,
From old winter's cheerless gloom
Comes wild minstrelsy.
Birds are singing from the trees,
Music floating on the breeze,
Like a prince o'erlooking these
Comes the bright sun out;
Smilingly he looks on earth,
Meeting there thy glance of mirth;
Freely gush the waters forth
With a joyous shout.
Music floating on the breeze,
Like a prince o'erlooking these
Comes the bright sun out;
Smilingly he looks on earth,
Meeting there thy glance of mirth;
Freely gush the waters forth
With a joyous shout.
